Chapter 8 - The Wife Who Signed Nothing
The accusation came faster than I expected.
Two days after Martin's warning, a letter arrived from the lawyer representing Dad's estate.
It alleged that I had authorized unauthorized distributions from Dad's accounts.
Attached were forms carrying versions of my signature.
Every one was wrong in a small, deliberate way.
My middle initial had a loop I never used.
My address included a street abbreviation I had abandoned years earlier.
The most convincing document referred to a meeting that occurred while I was away at a conference.
Naomi organized travel receipts, hotel invoices, and photographs from the event.
“We can show you weren't there,” she said.
“But proving who forged the signature is a separate matter.”
I wanted to call Eliam and demand an answer.
Instead, I called the bank's fraud department.
The representative placed restrictions on the disputed account and initiated an investigation.
That afternoon, Eliam appeared at Naomi's office.
He looked exhausted.
“Can we please talk like adults?” he asked.
Naomi remained at my side.
“You can speak here,” I said.
Eliam ignored her.
“Your sister has gotten into your head.”
“Did you open an account using my identity?”
“I tried to protect your father.”
“That wasn't my question.”
His eyes moved to the papers on Naomi's desk.
Then he recognized the signature samples.
For the first time, he seemed genuinely afraid.
“You don't understand the pressure I was under,” he said.
“Then explain it.”
“I can't.”
“You mean you won't.”
He lowered his voice.
“If you keep digging, you'll find things about your father that you won't want to know.”
I waited.
“Like what?”
He looked straight at me.
“Your father wasn't the person you thought he was.”
Before leaving, he put a folded note beside my chair.
It contained a single address and a time.
BELLWETHER, 6:00 P.M.
Underneath was another line.
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